


Check, Please!

by SophieValentine (Saeldur)



Series: Heaven Can't Wait [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bureaucracy, Fix-It of Sorts, Food, Other, Post-Canon, Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), angelic hierarchy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24711202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saeldur/pseuds/SophieValentine
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley just wanted to enjoy a nice lunch at the Ritz after the Apocalypse and the body swapping and the botched executions. Too bad Heaven can't wait and there's paperwork to be tended to.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Heaven Can't Wait [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854859
Comments: 17
Kudos: 65





	Check, Please!

After all of the fuss about the Apocalypse, and the subsequent restructuring of the world, and the kidnapping, and the near-discorporation (though it might really be closer to murder), Aziraphale was just starting to think that maybe everything was finally back to  _ something _ like normal. And that he could sit here at the Ritz, with Crowley elegantly and fashionably sprawled next to him, a glass of celebratory champagne at his fingertips, and truly enjoy what was sure to be a delightful meal. They’d gone for the full treatment this time, and the first course was about to come out.

“Ah yes - that’s them.”

Aziraphale had never heard this voice before in his life. Never. But there was something about it that set his spine a little straighter and absolutely set his wings to quivering in the liminal space in which he’d tucked them. It was smooth and even, and likely meant to be reassuring. It sent icy fingers of dread down his spine. Without a shadow of a doubt, without looking, he could tell that Crowley could feel the  _ etherealness _ of that voice as well. They were in trouble.

“Hello, boys - ever so sorry I’m late. Traffic was just  _ hellish _ .” The owner of said voice slipped into view, accompanied by a member of staff. The young man pulled out the woman’s chair and she slid into it, and then they glided forward. Like they’d done this dance a thousand times.

She was sleek as her voice - polished and perfectly coiffed - draped in white silk. She wore a little white hat with a mesh and lace accent that if it was not  _ real _ gold, Aziraphale would eat his table napkin. She tucked a small handbag under the table, then turned and gave her wine order to the boy who’d accompanied her, and called him by name.

He rushed to do her bidding.

“Shall we get the formalities out of the way so we can converse more normally?” Her eyes traveled from Aziraphale to Crowley and back at a leisurely pace.

Aziraphale couldn’t remember how to make noise. It was something to do with the lungs, he was sure of it - something with vibrations and  _ opening his mouth _ , but he was frozen. He could  _ feel _ the power of the ‘woman’ sitting across from him, moreso than he ever noticed it in Gabriel. His eyes darted to Crowley.  _ Those damn glasses! _ Even with them, though, Aziraphale recognized the tight draw of his mouth. The way his slouch had turned into almost a runner’s set to sprint.

“Good.” The woman snapped with a flourish of her perfectly-manicured hand.

The world went white around them. Sharply. Angel and Demon had but a moment to look at each other in some sort of dawning horror - their wings on full display in this place in between places - before a booming, echoing voice sounded. It was like great cathedral bells had decided to make words out of their loud and harmonious peals.

**“HARK! FOR I AM THE THRONE PAHALIAH!”**

In all that whiteness, some broke away, forming the vague shape of a person. A large person. Aziraphale had to crane his head back to see the whole of them - so towering and massive was the presence of this creature before him. Six great wings unfurled from its back, eyes opening along their upper edges. Rings of light curled and looped and lovingly brushed along wing and limb and head. All of it was white - but shades and degrees of it - almost too bright for even Aziraphale to look at. In horror he quickly turned to Crowley.

Crowley was doing a very good job of  _ not _ cowering, thank-you-very-much. He was cringing. From the light. He had his wings curled in, his hand up to his eyes, trying anything to shield himself from the overwhelming  _ blaze _ of heavenly light coming off this thing. This  _ Throne _ . Whatever that meant. He winced when it shook out it's wings and somehow even  _ more _ light got thrown around. Crowley closed his eyes, and before he could think better, prayed his death was quick. He didn’t want Aziraphale to watch him suffer.

There was an odd sound, and then the bright light dimmed. Considerably.

Aziraphale looked around, confused, and back to Crowley as he slowly uncurled himself from behind his wings. He quickly drew his own back towards himself from where he’d been trying to shade the demon best he could. The Throne had dimmed her light and was...shrinking. She still dwarfed the two of them by a good three or four feet, but she wasn’t the size of a clock tower anymore. The rings and circles of light looped and winked out of existence. Those great wings shuffled back into place, like interlocking puzzle pieces. It looked mesmerizing, but Aziraphale didn’t envy the grooming time it would take.

Crowley lifted his glasses a moment to rub the spots out of his eyes.

**“Fear not - Crowley, Architect of the Stars.”**

Her voice still had that melodious, pealing quality, but it was softer now. Crowley startled with the title, though. He didn’t know he had one. Certainly never been called one by an angel. And even though the face of the creature in front of him was a shapeless sort of whiteness, he almost felt it was looking down at him kindly. Smiling maybe.

**“Fear not - Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”**

_ Oh dear _ . Titles rarely meant anything good, ‘fear nots’ aside. It usually meant ‘prepare for trouble’ or ‘where’s your sword’ and most recently ‘who’s this demon you’re cavorting with’.  _ Oh dear. _

**“Fear not, for I bring glad tidings unto you both, which I hope shall bring great joy.”**

_ “Christ.” _ Crowley muttered, quite forgetting who he was in the company of, and getting horrid flashbacks to a place much warmer but no less bright than this. It sparked a thought, “Oh no, we’re not  _ doing _ the...the whole  _ Christ _ thing again, are we?”

_ “Crowley!” _ Aziraphale hissed, worriedly darting his eyes from the demon to the angel and back.

“What? Glad tidings? Great joy? Ringing a bell?”

The Throne chuckled under her breath,  **“No, little demon. We are not.”**

She seemed to take a great sighing breath in, but it was hard to tell, with so much whiteness and not much else.

**“There have been wrongs committed by some of the Host of Heaven. I am here to set them right again.”**

“I- I can explain.” He couldn’t.

The Throne held up her hand and Aziraphale quieted.

**“Wrongs committed** **_against_ ** **you, little Principality.”**

Aziraphale blinked dumbly and couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

**“And against you, little demon.”**

“I rather thought that was your lot’s job.”

Aziraphale was about to discorporate himself if Crowley kept talking to this Throne like that.  _ Good Godamercy. _ She was  _ two whole tiers _ above him, as far as hierarchy went, and it was a miracle that he hadn’t thoroughly embarrassed himself already. Thrones did  _ not _ get themselves involved in petty things like the death of a Principality. More important things to be getting on with. But here she was. And looking at her just now, he rather thought she might be frowning. Hard to say without a face.

**“Our duty is to follow Her word, Her plan. It is now to stand against the armies of the Adversary and protect all of the Almighty’s creatures.”**

_ “Some _ protection - not caring about starting the Apocalypse.”

_ “Crowley!” _

“No, I mean, you can’t tell me Gabriel-”

_ “Crowley, I beg you, please-!” _

The Throne held up a hand again, and both fell silent. It chaffed a little, to Crowley, to do so, but despite what Angel thought of him presently, he wasn’t  _ actually _ an idiot. And he only let the great tartaned menace keep hanging onto his arm, because it apparently calmed  _ Aziraphale’s  _ nerves.

**“There are those who have forgotten our purpose. Forgotten our duty. Forgotten our ways.** **_They_ ** **are to be held accountable. Gabriel chief among them.”** She paused, and when neither spoke up, she continued,  **“Will you stay and listen if I let you go, now? Or will you run? Perhaps...to Alpha Centauri?”**

Crowley didn’t know what the noise was that came out of his throat, but it tasted a bit like despair.  _ She knew _ . She knew where he’d been planning to run before. God above and Satan below, there was no escaping these people.  _ Fine. _

“Yeah, why not.” Crowley stood up a little straighter, affected his patented devil-may-care attitude, “Sure. Still get to eat lunch, though, yeah?”

The Throne chuckled even as Aziraphale balked.

The noise and the smells and the weight of time settled back around them in a snap. Aziraphale was still sitting in his seat, hands clenched around his napkin. Crowley was still sprawled in his. The Throne was still primly sitting in her own chair, smiling in an unsettling sort of way. She tilted her head as the sommelier approached and her smile turned kindly. He did his job with efficiency and was just about to leave when the Throne touched his arm. He froze.

“You are heard, Matthew, son of Stephen, and you are seen. Your devotion is to be commended, and it  _ has  _ been recognized.” She gave the man’s forearm a little squeeze, “Fear not. She’s going to be  _ just  _ fine.”

The man stuttered and floundered and a thousand emotions flickered across his face. He could’ve gotten angry. Could’ve been confused. Instead, a sudden dawning came across his face, and he trembled. A breathless sort of ‘thank-you’ fell from his lips, and suddenly he was all but fleeing from their table - headed to the kitchen.

“Little heavy-handed, don’t you think?” Crowley duly noted and then ignored Aziraphale’s warning glance.

“Oh, probably. I suspect I could use some practice.” She lifted the glass of red to her nose and inhaled the scent of it, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. They snapped open and locked on Azripahel, “Or perhaps just some pointers.”

She brought the glass to her lips and took a sip that was every bit as indulgent as Aziraphale eating any kind of dessert. If only Hell knew. How...oh, he couldn’t even think of the word! Gluttonous! But if this angel and  _ his _ angel-er-Azriaphael were anything to go by, they were all just right little hedonists, ready for someone to show them the finer things. 

“Well? Go on.” Pahaliah darted her gaze to the glass poured for each of them. “It’s quite lovely.” She saw the tremor in Aziraphale’s hands and Crowley’s reflexive swallow as they reached for their glasses. She sighed.

The Throne reached down to where she’d stowed her handbag and was rifling around in it at her feet. It was making the most peculiar papery sounds, and soon she came up with a folder about four inches thick and in no way narrow enough to have really come out of that purse. She placed it on the table with all the control of someone placing a feather. Opening up the front cover, the front page was laid bare.

“I trust you recognize the shape of what this is, little demon?”

Crowley snorted, “Petition.” He grabbed at the paper and let it card down, page after page of beautifully hand-written words. He whistled low, and almost could appreciate the effort (not to be confused with Effort), “I thought our lot had all the lawyers.”

“Oh,” She replied,  _ “You do.” _

The wait staff then arrived with their first course - a beautiful little ballotine of duck liver with damson plum jam and pistachio for taste and garnish. Azriphael smiled up at the waiter, thanking him, his existential dread all but forgotten for a moment with the prospect of the delightful dish in front of him. It looked positively scrummy and he gave a delighted little sigh as he picked up his silverware. It took him a moment to realize there were eyes on him. Two sets. The Throne across the way was looking at him with an oddly satisfied little smirk on her face. Crowley’s look was a little more inscrutable.

“Oh dear.”

Pahaliah laughed - musical and clear. Her head tilted back, exposing the long line of her throat and heads turned in her direction, like flowers to the sun. She waved her hand dismissively after a moment, and seemed quickly to put herself to the task of figuring out the food in front of her. The Throne looked over at Aziraphale, through her eyelashes, like a kid trying to cheat off the paper next to them. Crowley smothered a chuckle and relaxed into his chair. Maybe this wasn’t going to be a smiting.

“Start outside and work your way in, Pah-pale-er-...”

“Leah. No... _ Lilah _ will do.” There was satisfaction in her voice when she said it.

Crowley raised his eyebrows,  _ “That’s _ the association you want to go with?”

“Delilah was an interesting woman.” Lilah picked up the fork and knife on the outermost edges and did  _ not _ miss how Crowley picked up his set at random. Nor did she miss the little dismayed moue on Aziraphale’s face at his choice, or the shocked one at her pronouncement. Such an expressive little face.

Aziraphale hesitantly dug into the first course, seeing as how no one had been smited yet. Maybe - just maybe - they might all make it through lunch alive. He was hoping this business with the Petition was going to be explained. Aziraphale only had a vague sort of notion what either of them were talking about. He certainly knew what  _ petitioners _ were. And how one might  _ petition _ to the Almighty. But certainly this wasn’t-

_ “Mmmm.” _ He couldn’t help the little noise of satisfaction that hummed as he took the first bite.

Lilah smiled and cut into the duck, inspecting it like it were an interesting bug on the end of her fork and not something meant to be eaten.

“History has been full of  _ interesting _ women. You, I think, little demon, personally met my sixth favorite.” She popped the morsel into her mouth and her eyes widened a moment, before going half-lidded in pleasure.

Crowley felt oddly stuck. Like he had secret information that would get him promoted up the ranks if he just shared it with Hell, but that it would kill him in the telling. He needed a slideshow. And he only needed the one slide: “How to Make an Angel Fall: Take Them to Lunch”.

“Wait a minute - who?” Crowley had crammed about half of the little ducky-thing into his mouth. He supposed it was rather good. But not as good as the two of them seemed on about. And somehow he could  _ hear _ Aziriphale despairing over the ducks in St. James’.

“Eve.” The Throne took a second bite, swiped in the blueish sort of sauce, and it was somehow even  _ better _ . “She is my sixth favorite. Sixth favorite, so  _ far _ , I suppose I should say. There have been many upsets over the years, and more recently. Should be something interesting happening in Sweden coming up.”

“Eve!” Crowley almost choked for a minute, before remembering that swallowing things whole was easy as sin. “I would’ve thought you  _ hated _ her. What with- you know.”

“Well, I did. For a time.” Lilah paused and took another bite. A sip of wine, and then, “We all did. To have disobeyed the Almighty? To have done such a horrid thing? Not only that, but to get away with it? Sure, she was banished. But she wasn’t  _ smited out of existence. _ Got to live out her days in love, didn’t she? Even if she didn’t have ease.”

Lilah gave another thoughtful huff, savored her little dish, and then continued, “But as the years have gone on, I realize what a wondrous thing she did for all of us. Just think. If she hadn’t taken a bite. If she hadn’t gotten thrown out of the garden...we might all be right back where we were.”

“In the garden?” Angel and demon said in somewhat disjointed and confused unison.

“In boredom,” The Throne answered. “Boredom as crushing as a planet falling on you. Do you remember having fun?” Even though Aziraphale was already nodding, she continued, “I don’t.”

Crowley barked a laugh, “Should’ve come down with us then. Laugh riot in Hell.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to choke now. Crowley, somewhat unhelpfully, aggressively patted him on the back until he recovered. He scooted closer, too, and though Aziraphale was happy to have him nearer at hand, the look he gave him wasn’t exactly friendly. The demon didn’t seem to notice.

Liliah waited until the angel was fully settled before saying, “Believe me, I did consider it.”

Aziraphale was suddenly very glad for waiting on his last bite, now that she’d dropped that information into the room. His eyes went sideways at Crowley, and he saw the man’s eyebrows raise above his glasses. A sort of shrug with his face. This was nothing like what he thought would happen here. Nothing at all. What an  _ odd _ angel.

“But I couldn’t abandon my post,” She continued, “No matter how tedious I found it, and do find it sometimes, even now.”

“How is it you’re still up there?” Crowley gestured with a knife. “All this blaspheming?”

_ “Crowley!” _

Lilah took a moment, considering, then answered, “ _ Heaven _ only knows.”

Crowley laughed again, fork and knife clattering onto his plate, “I like you.”

Lilah smiled that sly smile again and continued eating her duck. Aziraphale couldn’t  _ quite _ figure out where he was meant to fall on the scale of things. On the one hand - she was being nice, and talking about things like Falling and being Bored of Heaven - and she hadn’t once talked about divine retribution. On the other - she was being  _ nice _ . Gabriel could fake being nice if he wanted to. When he wanted something.  _ Please let her be nicer than Gabriel. She seems that way, but how is this better than setting me the to pyre? Last meal first? _

“I seem nicer, little Principality, because I  _ am _ nicer. I believe I am also  _ better _ than Gabriel, but that’s more personal opinion than fact. And even saying  _ that  _ lets me maintain more humility than he does.” She’d finished her duck and set the cutlery down on the plate so gently they hardly made a sound.

Aziraphale gasped and was suddenly very glad to have been done. Wouldn’t do to waste good food, and his appetite had just left him. She was  _ reading his mind _ . Oh  _ how _ did one think of nothing? Hum, maybe?  _ Do doot dooo... _

“I suppose it’s only fair I tell the both of you at this point, in case you didn’t know,” She looked to Crowley, “Or in case you’d forgotten.” She looked to Aziraphale. “Thrones are in charge of overhearing prayer to the Almighty. You might think that only means the prayers of mortals. But it does not. It means  _ all _ prayer. Even ethereal, and yes, even occult prayers.”

In the lurch of that announcement, like a well-oiled machine, the staff came and took their empty plates, a fresh course not too far behind. Soup, it seemed, next. Langoustine and bronze fennel. Aziraphale swore he wasn’t hungry, but the smell was intoxicating, and, well, soup was good to settle a stomach. Right? He had his spoon in hand before he could think about it, and was tempering the heat of his first mouthful before he could second guess.

“Hang on. What’chu’mean  _ occult _ prayers?” Crowley had set his soup aside. An elbow was up on the table, and he leaned in to get a good stare at this Throne’s face. He didn’t  _ sense _ any deceit. But maybe more powerful creatures were better at covering it up. If he hadn’t spent so many years with Aziraphale, he might be inclined to say ‘angels don’t lie’, but that was categorically untrue.

“I mean what I say, and I say what I mean, little demon.” Lilah took the first mouthful of broth, letting it slide down her throat in a warm caress, and hummed happily. “We hear  _ all _ prayers to the Almighty. But - if it assuages your fears any - only  _ I _ hear the prayers of demons and angels now.”

Crowley grumbled and sat back in his chair. Would explain how she knew about Alpha Centauri. Maybe. But he didn’t- demons didn’t-

“Do demons actually pray?” Aziraphale asked of Lilah, genuinely interested, then turned to Crowley, “Do you actually pray?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Aziraphale looked from one lunch companion to the other, eager to see which of them would break the staring contest they currently had going on. It was rather good soup either way. He wondered if it was cumin he was tasting and if possibly their waiter might know when he brought the next course. Surely it was.

“Yes,” Lilah repeated, “I will not speak as to whether or not the demon Crowley prays, as that is between him and the Almighty, but demons do. Some more than others. Some less. ”

“I had no idea! What do they pray about?” Aziraphale asked, infinitely curious.

“That, little Principality, is between them and the Almighty.”

It wasn’t a tone of disapproval, exactly, but it was final in the way she said it. Crowley was too busy oozing down into his chair to notice anything Aziraphale was doing. The demon pulled his soup in front of him and fiddled with the spoon. He didn’t much care for soup courses, but he gave a vague nod of approval once Aziraphale looked his way for his opinion. He learned long ago to humor the angel about food. Crowley couldn’t  _ stand _ his look of disappointment. Bit like kicking a puppy. No good way to enjoy yourself after that.

“Originally,” Liliah started up again, after they’d supped at their soup in silence for a nearly uncomfortable moment, “We seven listened only to the prayers of angels, and delivered them to Her. Then, when She created Man, we listened to his prayers as well. When those of the Host…”

“Fell?” Crowley offered up. The Throne got an odd, pinched look about her when he said it, but quickly the calm veneer came back up.  _ Interesting. _

“When they were Cast Out. I...was tasked with listening to the prayers of the Fallen. The other two, then, listened to the rest.”

“That couldn’t have been easy,” Aziraphale was quick to commiserate, “I imagine there were a fair few that had choice words to say to Her.” He was thinking of how often Crowley cursed, and how he’d once said he was fairly sedate about it.

Lilah gave a close-mouthed chuckle, “Yes. There was a fair amount of cursing Her name. Fair amount of cursing in general.”

_ “Still is,” _ Crowley grumbled, fussing with his food and debating the merits of tipping it up and drinking and giving Aziraphale an apoplexy versus miracling it to the next table over. He settled for the miracle.

“The curses were far outweighed, though, by the pleas. By the begging.  _ Begging _ to be let back into Heaven’s Grace. Heaven’s Light. They pled, they begged, they apologized, they tried to make bargain - anything.” Lilah closed her eyes, and spoke softly,  _ “Anything _ , if She would only listen. Forgive. Have mercy.”

Crowley snorted.  _ Mercy. _

**“I remember** **every** **prayer.”** The Throne’s voice echoed tonally.

“That’s-” Aziraphale darted a glance around. No one had seemed to notice anything was amiss. Good. “I’m very sorry. You poor dear.”

And he was. Sorry. It seemed a terrible burden. He couldn’t even imagine what it must’ve been like. Everyone scared and confused and crying out. Aziraphale knows he would have been. Would be. He’s thought about it. Now, more than ever, now that he’s been - consorting or cavorting or whatever it is they’ve accused him of - with a demon. He actually thought perhaps that when they kidnapped him, what they were really going to do was cast him out. He didn’t actually imagine they would...incinerate him in Hellfire.  _ Bastards _ .

Crowley didn’t believe in coincidences or ‘just because’s. He believed in people (be they people or angels or demons) doing things for a reason. It wasn’t always a good one, but it was a reason. He wondered why demons are heard at all. Oversight?  _ Whoops, forgot to toggle the switch! _ Or was it malicious?  _ Ha-ha- you can pray and no one will answer!  _ And either way, the person listening would have to know they couldn’t do anything about those prayers. And the Throne had said ‘tasked’. She was ‘tasked’ with the job. She didn’t volunteer for it.

“Some punishment.”

Lilah stopped with her spoon halfway to her mouth. Slowly, she lowered the spoon back into the near-empty bowl. She flattened both hands onto the surface of the table, and then folded them in her lap. She finally, and with purpose, looked up and into Crowley’s eyes.

“Yes. It is.”

“But why?” Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself asking. Couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to punish someone so. He couldn’t bear it if he had to hear the words of demons all day, begging for forgiveness. He snuck a glance at Crowley and felt unfathomably grateful his demon had never brought up redemption. Not in anything more than the abstract. It already felt it was dearly sad he’d never feel the warmth of Her embrace again. Not that...Aziraphale held out much hope for himself at this point.

“You will find, Aziraphale, that fairness often looks much like cruelty to those who expect better than their due.” Lilah was sitting straight in her chair, her soup done and abandoned. “And it often -  _ is _ \- cruelty when those distributing justice also decide what is due. And what is fair.”

Crowley sized the woman up, noting the approach of the waitstaff over her shoulder. Punctual. They really were on point today. Fish, next, it looked like. The dishes were swapped with a precision he’d never seen in the Ritz before - not that they weren’t good. But they weren’t  _ this _ good. He narrowed his eyes at the Throne behind his glasses.

Soon as the staff had departed, Lilah picked up her next set of silverware and spoke, looking at the food on her plate as though she was forming a plan of attack.

“Now, you’re both probably wondering what that Petition is  _ for _ exactly.” With great dexterity, she managed to get a bit of everything into one little bite.

“Oh yes, please,” Aziraphale took that as his cue and dug in. Marvelous little Cornish Turbot today, with fresh leek and caviar. And champagne that would only be a little better if -  _ there  _ \- all set. She hadn’t even noticed!

Crowley nudged the Angel’s thigh with his knee and nodded to his own glass of champagne.

Aziraphale indulges the demon, and then the Throne (bless, she won’t know better), with a fond huff of breath. Now, if he isn’t very much mistaken, he thinks the caviar today is Oscietra, which he  _ hopes _ is some sort of sturgeon. If not, he was going to be very put out at whomever told him so. If he could remember who that was. Oh, but he forgot about the cumin.  _ Hmm. _

Amused, Lilah continues, “That particular Petition is the first of many that will be presented to the Host of Heaven to judge. Firstly, it must be recognized that Gabriel did not have the jurisdiction to judge you for your actions, Aziraphale. And therefore did not have the authority to attempt to destroy you.”

“He...didn’t?” Aziraphale blinked up at Lilah, who was crinkling her nose and scooting her caviar to the side. Pity. Still. There were questions to be answered, and Aziraphale was practically bouncing in his seat to be in the actual presence of someone who might finally tell him more than ‘it’s part of the plan’.

“No,” Lilah agreed, “He didn’t. And that’s the problem. He  _ isn’t _ your superior - or he isn’t meant to be. Not except for special circumstances - such as war, first and foremost.”

“Apocalypse isn’t war?” Crowley waived off a judgmental look from Angel for talking with food stuffed in his cheek, and swallowed. “Was fairly certain that was what everyone was gearing up for. There were lots of swords and such for a picnic.”

“Oh it certainly was - meant to be war, that is,” Lilah allowed, “But then - a miraculous thing happened!” Her sarcasm was as bubbly as the champagne served with this dish, “It was averted! Can you even imagine?” She smiled, before taking a sip of her new drink. “Ooh, I like that.” She took half the glass in the next gulp.

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale applied himself more studiously to his fish. There was no need to rehash the whole thing. She was clearly well aware of all that went on. And if she was a Throne, she’d have access to all of Aziraphale’s reports...his miracle logs...oh dear. Just as he was about to speak (saying what, he had no idea), Crowley interrupted.

“So, what, Apocalypse averted, Gabriel’s not in charge anymore?”

“That’s the short of it, yes.” Lilah looked askance of her empty glass, and with a rising gesture of her finger it filled again. She delightedly took another sip before continuing, “The long of it is that the Archangels Haniel and Netzach have leadership of the Principalities, in all but wartime. Gabriel, obviously, then has rule of them during war, as the other two have duties to perform that require a little more finesse than shouting at angels to line up and take a sword.” She shared an indulgent little grin with the demon.

Lilah savored her next bite before gesturing to her fellow ethereal being with her fork, “But  _ before _ the Apocalypse and in the event it is  _ diverted _ , Gabriel has no authority over  _ any _ Principality.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale thought about that and took another bite. “But why then did I often have to report to him?”

“Mmm,” Lilah daintily but uselessly dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin and explained, “When not in war - meaning nearly the entirety of these last six thousand years - he has no other set duties. The other Archangels tend to borrow or bully or bribe him into doing various jobs for them. To split the work-load, so to speak.”

“Bribe, eh?” Crowley can’t help the grin creeping across his face.

“If you think I’ll tell you what he can be bribed with  _ that _ easily, you need to think again, little demon. I expect more effort for such a reward.”

Crowley snickered. Noticing her plate, “You gonna eat that?”

“The little black squelchy bits? No, I don’t think so.” Lilah surrendered the plate to the demon.

Crowley stole Aziraphale’s stupid little golden spoon and gave the caviar new home on the angel’s plate. The delighted little huff and radiant smile from Angel was almost enough to make up for the knowing little smirk on the Throne’s face. Well. Who was he kidding. It was more than worth it. Sod her. What did she actually know? He had the sudden urge to light a cigarette right there at the table, just to see if he’d get in trouble for it.

“Honestly, Crowley, what could you  _ want _ to bribe Gabriel for?” Aziraphale gently reclaimed his spoon and put it to use with a grateful sort of look in the demon’s direction.

“Dunno.” Crowley shrugged, leaning back in his chair, “Could be fun having an angel for an errand boy.”

“You hold your tongue demon,” There was no real heat to the Throne’s voice, and it was clear she found the idea at least half as amusing as Crowley did. “Archangel Gabriel is no one’s  _ errand boy.” _ She took the last (for the second time) sip of her champagne. “He’s a  _ messenger _ boy. He delivers messages.”

“Mmm!” Aziraphale gestured with his caviar spoon, having already scooped the delicious stuff onto the provided crisp, “Oh that’s right!” He turns to address Crowley, thinking perhaps he didn’t keep up with Gabriel’s comings and goings as the rest of them had, “Apart from announcing the birth of, well, you know, he also announced the birth of John.”

Crowley stared.

“The Baptist?”

“Right, well,  _ Angel, _ there’s been, like, a lot of Johns.”

“True. True.” Aziraphale fiddled with the morsel in his hand, “But apart from those two, he also appeared to a sort of prophet. Duh...Dah...Daniel!”

“Daniel,” Lilah confirmed, just about the time the Principality remembered. “That’s right. He’s done a few other things, here and there, but those were the ones with the most pomp. Those were the ones we actually had to play fanfare for.”

“You mean  _ actual _ fanfare, don’t you?” Crowley could tell this was an easy avenue to push at; thankfully his little angel was distracted making sweet love to fish eggs on toast and wouldn’t stop him pressing. “What a wanker.”

Lilah startled in laughter, making the room go blurry at the edges and the lights glow a little brighter just for a moment.

“Apologies,” She demured, soon as she got herself under control. She gave a glance about, but she knows there’s no one of import there but them, “Do you know? He actually messed up his first job so badly he had to go back and do it again.”

“No!” Crowley leaned in, tilting his head down just so, knowing the barest sliver of his eyes could be seen over his glasses.

“Yes!” The Throne countered, eagerly. She matched the demon’s posture, and confessed, “He was meant to be giving Daniel a  _ vision _ , but he made it so irreparably  _ vague _ , that he had to go right back down and  _ explain _ the thing to him.” She grinned, picking up her abandoned red. “We refused to play him in a second time, though.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley thudded back in his seat, chuckling low to himself, all those beautiful and sharp little teeth on display. Had he really just seen that? Is that was it was like? His  _ tempting? _ Or was she always going to say? Is this what it looked like from the outside? How odd. Aziraphale felt just a little unsettled. But, oh. The caviar was all gone.

Sensing their moment, the waitstaff of the Ritz swooped down and exchanged all the plates and silverware in a choreographed dance. As though someone had asked, their primary waiter declared their dish to be: “Filet of Fallow Deer sur Sauce Grand Veneur with Smoked Beetroot and Juniper”, and also “quite lovely.”

_ “Wonderful.” _ Aziraphale sighed, “Thank-you.”

The Throne made a sound, but when Aziraphale questioned it, she waved him off.

“Nothing.” It was said fondly and with a small smile tugging to one side of her mouth. “At any rate - that’s your copy of the Petition, Aziraphale. Feel free to peruse it at your leisure. Frame it. Burn it. Doesn’t matter to me. My only requirement was delivery.”

“I see,” He eyed the tall stack of paper, “And it took all of that to say what you just told us?”

“Yes. It does seem overdone, doesn’t it?” Lilah agreed, taking her first bite. She gave a thoughtful hum, “‘Brevity is the soul of wit’.” She quoted, “But then Heaven isn’t known for being witty, so there you are.”

Crowley snorted, “Dunno. Starting to think no one’s met you.”

“You keep your forked tongue behind your teeth-” Lilah licked sauce from her knife, “-before I find a better use for it.”

Aziraphale looked back and forth. Crowley was frozen, as though time had stopped. Lilah was now chewing her steak as though determined to savor every last molecule. He was terribly afraid he’d missed something.

“Oh  _ you’re _ good.” Crowley nodded, finally, cutting into the deer.

“Thank-you.” Lilah answered primly, taking a sip of her wine, before winking at the demon, “One does like their  _ efforts _ to be recognized...if not outright worshipped.”

“Oh good  _ Lord,” _ Aziraphale had finally caught up with the two of them, and it was to the tune of shared laughter at dirty jokes. He wondered how in the  _ world _ an angel of Heaven could be so bawdy as to make a demon laugh, when he remembered. The prayers. Demon prayers. They must be  _ such _ ribald things.

Liliah only smiled at the Principality, enjoying her steak too much to comment further.

“You woulda made a good demon, I think.” Crowley said thoughtfully, wine glass in hand, “Not just - jokes and such - that just makes you funny. But I think you’d be... _ efficient _ at it. Better than this lot. Beezlebub would have to watch their tail; mind how they go.”

“Beezlebub?” The Throne questioned, “You think so low of me after such a compliment? I’d aim a little higher than  _ second _ in command.” Looking up to see the somewhat scandalized look on Aziraphale’s face, she chuckled, “Fear not, little Principality. I don’t  _ want _ to Fall, but if I did, I wouldn’t be puttering about taking  _ orders _ . I’ve done enough of that already.”

“Mmm. Yeah. Well. Beezlebub kinda runs the show, though, don’t they?”

“They  _ what?” _

“Beezlebub. Runs the show.” Crowley finished chewing and elaborated for the two angels now giving him their full and undivided attention. He didn’t know if he was supposed to be saying this, but it sort of got away from him under their combined stares. “They sort of...run things. I mean, I assume they get instruction from Lucifer, but nobody’s actually seen him in an age. Well,” he corrects, “Apart from that tarmac in Tadfield.”

“You’re  _ kidding.” _ The Throne’s voice was flat and unamused.

“Nah. Why would I?”

When the Throne goes back to eating, it’s with precise movements and nearly violent cuts with her knife. She opens her mouth several times, as though to talk, but instead shoves the deer in her mouth and chews with a vengeance.

“Is this...bad?” Aziraphale wonders aloud. The whole situation was news to him, too, but to be honest, he’d never really thought about it. And even thinking about it now, it doesn’t seem odd. The Almighty doesn’t really directly run things in Heaven. Why should Lucifer run them directly in Hell? Though. Maybe that wasn’t such a great thought to have. Before he can think better of it, he prays in apology.

Lilah chuckles, “It’s fine. He’d appreciate the implication they were similar, and She’s secure in the fact it isn’t true, so wouldn’t mind.” The Throne sighs, “I just wonder. If he hasn’t been in Hell, and he hasn’t been directly running things…” She looks up and pegs Crowley with a stare, “Tell me honestly, if you can, how much of all this is demons, and how much of it is humanity?”

Crowley doesn’t bother with a response. Only tips his head down and looks at her over the rim of his glasses. She already knows the answer, the way she’s asking. And saying it would only rub salt in the wound. There’s a reason he gets commendations for minimal effort. Most are putting in none.

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Her sigh is bigger this time. “Their good works aren’t to be credited to us as much as we’d like, either.”

Aziraphale wisely, doesn’t comment. He’s known for a while that Humanity can reach heights revered by Angels and depths envied by Demons without any intervention at all. What he does is sort of...even things out. Bring the general sense of well-being a little higher in an area. The rest is their doing. Their work. It’s why he loves the Earth so much. Why it was rather easy for Crowley to talk him into saving it.

“We should’ve just had the Apocalypse on Mars.” Lilah huffed, “Would’ve been easier. Could’ve gotten it all out of our systems. Gabriel could have had his one, shining moment.”

“Yeah, but if it had,” Crowley is quick to point out, “He’d have had the authority to roast Aziraphale.” His voice absolutely did  _ not _ catch on the angel’s name. He looked down at what little was left of his steak to avoid looking at anyone else.

“Oh, no. That’s the truly annoying part.” Lilah gestured to the wine bottle on the table, and the wine miracled itself from bottle to glasses. “He was going to do it under false pretenses. Or, well.  _ He _ thought his reasons were justified, but they weren’t. Not really.”

“How do you mean?” Aziraphale had finished and took a sip of the red. It tasted...familiar. “I thought he was going to set me ablaze for…” He cast a sidelong look at Crowley, “For...averting the apocalypse.”

“Among other things,” Lilah allowed. She leaned over and dug into her purse again, and came up with an even  _ bigger _ folder. This one was a sort of poppy red color, as opposed to the marigold-colored folder before. She sat it on the table and opened the front page.

The front page looked similar to the other, in that it had the same scrolling calligraphy proclaiming what it was at the top. The Throne quickly flipped about a third of the way through and pointed a mother-of-pearl painted nail to an indented list. Of charges.

“Unlawful diversionary...oh! Diverting the Apocalypse.” Aziraphale took a little time to suss out just what each long description meant, “Fraternizing with the Adversary. Aiding the Adversary.  _ Abetting _ the Adversary - but that’s - what’s the difference, Crowley?”

“Aiding is helping directly. Abetting is encouraging but not participating. Accessory after the fact means you helped cover it up. Like that one,” Crowley pointed to the next point.

_ “I’d like to know how he intended to prove any of this.” _ The angel groused.

“Oh, he didn’t.” Came the matter-of-fact answer, “For one, he didn’t expect to be called out on it. And if anyone did, he thought he’d say ‘consorting with the Adversary’ and people would leave it be.” Lilah shook her head,  _ “Poor, deluded bastard. _ Read on.”

“Excessive use of miracles - but what’s  _ excessive _ , really? In the scheme of things? And are we talking  _ number _ of miracles? Or  _ size?” _ When Lilah only smiled at him, Aziraphale continued, mumbling to himself over the last item, until finally he got, “Oh! It’s about the sword...well. I  _ did _ lose that.”

“Did you?”

“Well, yes, I-” Aziraphale stopped. Realized she probably knew  _ just _ what he did with it, and continued, “I gave it to Adam and Eve. It’s just...they were all  _ alone, _ and Eve was  _ pregnant, _ and animals wanted to  _ eat _ them now. Then. After the whole-” He gestured in Crowley’s direction, “You know.”

“Well then I really wouldn’t say it was  _ lost,  _ if you knew just who you gave it to.” There was a mischievous sparkle in Lilah’s eyes, “You may not know what they  _ did _ with it after you gave it away, but that’s not really your responsibility at that point, now is it? It was a gift, after all.”

“Oh. I...well I never thought about it that way.”

“Lucky for you, then, little Principality, that I did.” Lilah closed the cover of the folder just as the waitstaff came with the first dessert course. “And it’s in a museum, by the way. Museo dei Gladiatori - a Roma.”

_ “Gladiator _ Museum?” Aziraphale balked, “Why on  _ Earth  _ would they think-”

“What’re they supposed to think, Angel?” Crowley snorted, “That’s probably where it popped up. Were they supposed to put a little paper tab under it that says: ‘Flaming Sword, forged by God’?”

“Well, no, but-”

“And it’s better than anything made earlier. In fact, if I’m going to be honest, I would bet a bottle of whatever you like that they made their designs based on yours.”

“Don’t take that bet,” Lilah quickly advised, leaning down a little to sniff at the plate in front of her.

“Spoil my fun, why don’t you.”

“A bet isn’t fun if it’s a sure thing, little demon, the  _ fun  _ is in the risk.”

Crowley would  _ bet _ whatever that he just learned more about this angel, this Throne, from that once sentence than he had their entire conversation. ‘The fun is in the risk’ indeed. She  _ liked _ skirting the edge of what was acceptable. Walking the line and looking over the side.

“I can’t decide if it smells sweet or not. This is...dessert?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale piped up, “Truffles. With honey the Ritz cultivates out of it's own little apiary. They’re mainly chocolate, and truffle has to do with the thing itself, but, there’s  _ also _ truffles in them. It’s a sort of a...root. Or tuber.”

“It’s a fungus.” Crowley slid his little plate over to Aziraphale with a curled lip.

“Delightful.” The Throne remarked with an apprehensive sort of tone. She cut into one anyway and took a bite.

Aziraphale found himself the sole recipient of another celestial being’s stare for a moment, before everyone shared in her unfettered bliss. The room had gone a little hazy at the edges again, and he could swear he almost felt the warm glow of Heaven ruffling his hair. Just for a moment. And then it all snapped back to reality.

“Oh how does anyone get anything done when  _ these _ exist?” She very sedately brought the other half to her lips, murmuring to the thing,  _ “I need a thousand more of you.” _

Aziraphale chuckled and bit into his own, happily wiggling in his chair. Actually wiggling. If Crowley didn’t like the Angel so damn much, he might be inclined to snicker nastily. As it was, he propped his chin on his hand and watched him eat. Hoping the look on his face didn’t look half as stupid as it felt.

The two of them carried on in their own little world, happy as clams, until rather suddenly the joy slid out of Aziraphale’s face like water off St. James’ ducks.

“Oh, but-” He looked down to the red folder, and up to Lilah, “But I’m still guilty of all those things!”

“Angel, don’t- you don’t  _ admit _ to that sort of thing.”

The Throne let out a breathy sort of moan that had several men at the next table over whipping their heads around. She licked her lips after her last treat and turned back to her lunch companions, a little dazed looking.

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve an exemption.”

“A what?”

“Well, you’ve an exemption. For all of it to do with the Adversary. You’re allowed to  _ do _ all of it.” Lilah dug around in her purse again, this time pulling out a blue folder, comically tall as a wine glass. It took a little shuffling to get everything still on the table, but luckily dessert plates were small.

“Excepting, of course, the sword, the miracles, and averting the Apocalypse.” Lilah pointed out, “But there’s no real limit on miracles, and averting the Apocalypse is not actually something you can be charged with anyway. There’s not a  _ mandate  _ against stopping it. There’s just not a directive  _ for _ stopping it, which Gabriel took to mean everyone should leave it well enough alone.”

“Wanker.”

“Indeed.”

She rifled through the pages efficiently, even upside down, and a lot of them looked like Aziraphale’s own handwriting - signatures at the bottom. Reports. Aziraphale recognized a few of the shorter ones as she shifted past.

“Are these all my reports?”

“All-?” Lilah scoffed, “Heavens no, Principality. You’ve a folder for each millenia. This one just has the relevant paperwork I wanted to- now where is- ah!”

It fell open on a piece of parchment that was all written out in the handwriting from the Petition. Probably the Throne’s handwriting. She tapped that manicured fingernail to the top of the page and both Aziraphale and Crowley leaned in to read. It took a moment, then:

“... _ capable of Redemption!?” _ Crowley sputtered, “You-!”

“I don’t…” Aziraphale shook his head, trying to read while Crowley started to hiss angrily in his ear about him being a hypocritical sneak, “I didn’t request this!”

The three of them sat in silence a moment before the Throne answered.

“No, you didn’t.” Lilah confirmed, “I wrote up the form and back-dated it. I slipped it into your paperwork when you had to come up for your millennial review, several thousand years back.”

“Why?” Crowley voiced for the two of them.

“Because I hear  _ prayers, _ little demon. And sometimes I like to see who’s praying.” Lilah’s eyes went from one to the other, “The two of you prayed about each other. Asking for guidance. And over the years, you continued to meet. This  _ would _ be cause for censure, if not for-” She tapped the piece of paper.

“And I’ll thank you to notice, Demon Crowley, that it says  _ ‘if the Host believes the Adversary  _ _ capable _ _ of Redemption’ _ and says nothing whatsoever about actually  _ trying _ to redeem said Adversary.”

Crowley lurched forward again and reread the whole thing. He lifted his glasses and scanned over the words line by line, word by word, realizing the brilliance of it at last. It was basically a permission form to talk to a Demon that, in the eyes of Heaven ‘maybe wasn’t as evil as the rest of them’. He laughed and collapse back in his seat, glasses firmly in place.

“Brilliant.”

“But why?” Aziraphale had come to nearly the exact same conclusion, but with the addition of thinking this had all been done specifically for him.

“Because you are the best of us, Aziraphale.” Lilah stared him right in the eyes as she said it, “Because I have looked over the whole of the Host of Heaven and I have found us wanting. Because when I watch you move amongst the Mortals, lifting them up in your wake, helping them achieve all they could be, I see the Divine Plan. I see  _ Her _ plan. And even when you fail, you try again. You are not dismayed. You are not weak of heart. You are stout in your courage and steadfast in your aims.”

She does look down then, and Aziraphale has to blink to stop the sudden welling of tears to his eyes. What could he possibly say to that?

“And because there was another I thought the best of us. Once.” Her voice does catch then. Lilah looks up and around and just anywhere  _ not _ at the angel and demon across from her. “And I couldn’t save him. I didn’t try.” She shook her head, “Not as well as I could have.”

It dawned for Crowley, obvious and huge. Lucifer. This was the angel Lucifer had tried to wait for. This was the one he looked for when they pulled back from their battle against the rest of the Host. When they were Cast Out or Fell or Fled or Sauntered Vaguely Downwards.  _ This _ is why she was made to listen to the prayers of demons.

_ I’m sorry. _

Lilah sobbed, half-choking a laugh. She startled as Aziraphale’s hand shot across the table and offered her his kerchief. “Thank-you,” she said weakly, pressing the delicate bit of linen to her eyes.

It was as if all the light came out of the room. Diners shivered around them as the Throne silently wept. No one dared speak; there was no clink of silverware, no ring of glass. Everyone seemed to be holding their collective breath until-

She sniffled after a moment, and made a sound of annoyance.

“Why are corporal forms so disgusting? Liquid. Everywhere.”

“Even the fun stuff has a fair bit of liquid involved.”

The dining room sprang back to light and life and sound on the Throne’s bark of laughter. She gave one last sniff and took a breath before setting herself to rights. When she was done, she handed the kerchief back to Aziraphale, who tucked it absently into his breast pocket, eyes stuck glued to the Throne.

“Apologies.” She looked around, “I really must get better about keeping my emotions on the  _ inside _ .”

“You expect-” Aziraphale had to clear his throat to sound normal, “You expect to be here long?”

“Oh, not this trip.” She smiled, and the wait staff bustled in on cue, “This was a formality before the trial to deliver your paperwork and tell you of all that was happening. But after...after this is over, I think I’ll take a little trip down here and stay a bit.” She nodded decisively, draining the last of her red wine, “Couldn’t hurt. I can do my job as well down here as up there. Isn’t as though there are  _ roaming _ charges for prayers.”

Crowley snorted and thanked his own self for wearing his glasses today. He’d almost seen his- the- Aziraphale cry in the aftermath of that chapel bombing, and he’d wanted to raze a country. Seeing  _ this _ angel cry just made him want to tell rude jokes until she laughed, because all that crying was contagious.

“I rather thought mashed potatoes were supposed to be white,” Lilah remarked, digging in to their last dessert.

“Mashed- no- that’s  _ sorbet _ , it’s-”

“Mmm!” She hopped in her seat, waving at her mouth. Swallowing, she squealed, “It’s cold!”

“-a frozen treat.”

“Oh no. I don’t think I like that.” Lilah wrinkled her nose at the bowl, and looked to Crowley, “How do you stand it?”

Crowley gave her a look that said ‘are you kidding’? Because he was too busy savoring the sweet melt of it on his tongue. Pineapple and lime, if he wasn’t much mistaken. By no means the Angel’s favorite. He’d probably rather have key lime pie. But sorbet? Oh yes, please. Like a lolly without the stick.

Lilah pushed her dish across the table, “You have it then. It makes my mouth feel funny.”

“Well, pineapple is known to break down or digest human flesh.” Aziraphale couldn’t help the giggle that escaped at the wide-eyed look she gave him, “Don’t worry,” he assured, “human bodies digest it faster.”

“Wondrous.”

“Miraculous, even.” Aziraphale agreed, savoring the treat.  _ Would’ve preferred pie to end, but. _ You can’t have everything.

“Well.” The Throne looked on in satisfaction and carefully lifted the light blue folder of Aziraphale’s reports, stuffing it back into the purse on her lap.

“Now you’ve seen the Petitions - and as I said, they’re yours to keep. Go over them at your leisure. The trial will be soon, but-” She shrugged, half rolling her eyes, “-soon on a cosmic scale. Not a human one. I’ll let you know when it gets closer to time. You’re allowed to appear, if you’d like, but it’s  _ not _ a requirement.”

“Oh, so...um...what do I…?”

“Ah yes!” She put up a finger before rifling through her purse again, coming up with an ordinary looking manilla envelope, “Here we are!”

Aziraphale opened the cover and recognized the format of a form of new orders. He felt Crowley brush against his shoulder as he leaned in to read with him.

“But it’s-”

“Vacation!” Lilah trilled, “Think of it as a vacation. Time off for good service. You’ll have new orders as soon as the trial’s over, but at present, we of the Thrones have ruled it would be  _ unfair _ for you to resume your normal duties in the wake of such a  _ traumatic  _ experience of being roasted in Hellfire.”

“Did you?” Crowley asked, lowering his sunglasses.

“Yes. Eventually.” The Throne preened a little, wings shuffling against each other in liminal space, “I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

_ “Bet you can.” _

“So there you have it. You’re not up for any trouble, and you’ve the century or two off, at least, in the run up to the trial.” Lilah snapped her purse closed and moved to stand. “Have a lovely rest of your lunch, boys. I’m off to see a few sights before I head back to Home Office.”

Aziraphale quickly rose and tugged Crowley up beside him, though the demon was half on his feet already.

“I’m only sorry I couldn’t do better.”

“Better?” Aziraphale asked in a whisper. What more could there have been to do? He felt faint just thinking about all this. All these years of hiding and subterfuge and they hadn’t had to do any of it! Except, well, maybe for Crowley’s sake. But even then! He could’ve said he was trying to corrupt Aziraphale, and it’d probably be excused!  _ Why _ .

“Well, I wanted to get compensation for Crowely, too.” When they both goggled at her, she continued, “The Host has forty-eight hours, post-smiting (or post-smiting attempt in your case, Crowley), to file for such. Michael didn’t. Technically, trying to kill you by Holy Water should be deemed an unlawful smiting. Sadly...they didn’t go for it.” She shrugged and pushed in her chair. “They  _ did _ go for unlawful smuggling of Holy Water to a lesser realm...but that’s neither here nor there. Afternoon, gentlemen.”

She was well out of sight before Crowley launched himself around the back of Aziraphale’s seat and chased after the Throne before he could change his mind.

“Wait!”

They’d quite an audience for when Pahaliah turned and stopped, just near the entrance hall. She had a pair of sunglasses in her hand and the staff was holding open the door for her exit, sunlight streaming in and framing her in a shaft of sparkling light.

It hit the demon like a ton of bricks that she might have actual answers in all this. She’d been around for it all. Before either he or Aziraphale were a thought in the Almighty’s head. But now that she’d stopped, he didn’t know what to say. What to ask.

_ Do you want me to look for Lucifer? Do you want me to say anything if I do? How long have you known about Angel and I? Why me? Why him? Why us? Why any of it? What did it mean, and where are we going? _

Her face softened.

“You may ask me one question, Anthony J. Crowley, Architect of the Stars, and I will answer as truthfully and as fully as I know how.”

Before he could stop his lips moving, he answered, “Why?”

Pahaliah laughed and it rang like the bells of St. Mary-le-Bow. If they hadn’t had a large audience before, they did now. A hush fell over the room like it had before, only this time in anticipation. Aziraphale came up behind Crowley and waited, breathless as he was.

“That’s a very large question.” She told Crowley.

“One that deserves a large answer?” He asked hopefully.

“So it does, little demon, so it does.” Lilah opened the arms of her sunglasses, “One that will take many, many lunchtimes to answer, I should suspect. How does Tuesday next suit the two of you?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale answered into the lurch of Crowley’s response, “There’s a lovely Italian place you should try next.”

**“So mote it be,”** She proclaimed with all the solemnity of a Biblical proclamation. She put her sunglasses on, secured her hat, and gave a little wave on her way out.

“Ta, darlings!”

Aziraphale and Crowley wandered back to their table in a sort of fugue state. Sat back down in a daze. There was a vague sort of knowledge that there was new food waiting in their spots.

“Did that just happen?”

“Must’ve,” Crowley looked down and remarked, “Pink.”

When Aziraphale looked, there were three kinds of cake on a plate in front of him, and a bowl of pink and orange and green sorbet in front of Crowley. They shared a look and decided, without saying anything at all, that they’d just enjoy it.

They were about three or four bites in, each making their own little barely-there noises of delight when Crowley broke the amicable silence.

“Want to go back to yours and test this fraternizing thing?”

_ “Crowley!” _

“What?”

Aziraphale gathered up the folders left on the table and, clutching them to his chest, he turned to look at the demon next to him.

_ “Six thousand years of friendship, and  _ _ that’s _ _ how you proposition me?” _

“No good?”

“I should say not,” Aziraphale stood, and then leaned forward, ‘til his mouth was right next to the demon’s ear, “Mine doesn’t have a bed.”

“Check! Gonna need the check.”


End file.
